


Katsuo

by thealphagate_archivist



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Angst, Drama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-15
Updated: 2006-03-15
Packaged: 2019-02-02 02:29:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12717837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thealphagate_archivist/pseuds/thealphagate_archivist
Summary: This is the story of Daniel's guitar.





	Katsuo

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the archivists: this story was originally archived at [The Alpha Gate](https://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Alpha_Gate), a Stargate SG-1 archive, which began migration to the AO3 in 2017 when its hosting software, eFiction, was no longer receiving support. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2017. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are this creator and it hasn't transferred to your AO3 account, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Alpha Gate collection profile](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/thealphagate).

He first really noticed him on a drizzly, overcast Thursday--a thin youngster, twelve or thirteen years old, his badly cut hair flopping over the heavy frames of glasses and partially obscuring the big blue eyes that gazed wistfully at the window display.

He realized he'd seen him before. Had vaguely registered his presence outside the window on several afternoons, devouring the showcased instruments with sober, hopeless admiration.

Once aware, he watched each afternoon. And most days, there the boy would be, studying the graceful lines and delicate inlay of the guitars. Occasionally, a bony, long-fingered hand would gently brush the glass in a distant caress.

Katsuo wagered with himself. How long would it take the boy to muster the courage to push the door open?

It took considerably longer than his most conservative guess. For two weeks, Katsuo's afternoons were spent gently planing, sanding and varnishing... and waiting for the boy's skinny body to obscure the warm sunshine that normally flooded the shop late in the day.

Finally, he knew the day had arrived. The usually calm, still body had lost its quiet. Small quivers shook the boy's frame, and his longing eyes shifted constantly to the handle on the door. The few instruments placed in the window were no longer enough; today Katsuo knew the youngster would brave the door for the sake of the wealth inside the small shop.

A breath of warm air ushered the boy into the shop. Having found the courage to breach the door, he stood motionless as the latch clicked behind him.

Katsuo stilled his hands, watching silently as the round blue eyes swept over the racks, devouring the riches displayed. The boy's full lips parted slightly; a pink tongue tip swept quickly over his soft lower lip. A deep, reverent sigh shivered in the silence. For long moments, he stood just inside the door, gazing at the curves of the dozens of racked guitars. Then, just as silently, he slipped back through the door and was gone.

Katsuo shook his head, smiling slightly and returning his attention to the mother-of-pearl inlay he was teasing into prepared grooves on the neck of a custom-made twelve-string.

Over the next week, his silent visitor's boldness increased each day. From standing frozen inside the door, he'd graduated by small degrees to setting whatever burden he carried on the tall stool in the corner and drifting up and down the rows of hanging guitars, hands either firmly restrained in his pockets or grasped tightly behind his back. His desire trembled in the still air of the store.

Neither of them spoke. Katsuo watched; the boy's focus was confined to the fine instruments.

Considering their lack of conversation, Katsuo gathered a surprising amount of information about his young visitor. His clothing had that worn, not-quite-fitting look so characteristic of hand-me-downs. The hair was long and shaggy, windblown and uncombed. And he seemed perfectly willing to let it veil his eyes. Those heavy rims on the glasses were the least expensive available. The youngster was usually carrying some assortment of books and papers, carefully protected in his arms. On rainy days, the fronts of his oversized plaid shirts bulged over whatever he was carrying, sheltering it from damage. And he was always alone.

So... not much money. Shy. And not much worried about appearances. And those books... they were important to him. And very possibly no friends. Just a consuming interest in guitars.

Then, after a week of gazing hungrily at the forbidden bounty in the shop, there it was again. That quivering disquiet. Only this time, Katsuo knew the boy would never take the next step. Would never touch without encouragement.

"Would you like to play one?"

The youngster's body jerked violently around, his blue eyes stretched wide and startled.

"I... uh..." The color had drained out of his face. "Oh, no... I..."

Katsuo carefully set the nearly completed guitar on his work bench, then stretched his stiff back. He ducked under the counter and walked up to the boy, letting his gaze sweep up and down the thin body.

Nodding slightly, he turned his eyes toward the racked guitars, assessing the beautiful instruments.

"Here. Try this one." He lifted a small-bodied Yairi off its cradle, then nodded toward the stool.

For a long moment, the boy stood motionless, eyes fixed on the gleaming instrument.

"I couldn't... I can't buy one."

"I know."

Blue eyes met his. He could see the desperate temptation in their depths.

Katsuo used his free hand to lift the books off the stool, then pull it out from the wall. He turned to the wavering youngster, smiled gently, and gestured to the stool.

The boy hesitated another moment, tongue nervously flickering over his lips. Then he yielded, slipping past Katsuo and hoisting himself onto the stool.

The guitar slid into his hands as if it belonged there. For several seconds, the long, bony fingers stroked reverently over the beautiful instrument, lightly brushing across the burled mahogany of the back, touching the inlay on the neck. Then the curved wooden body nestled securely against his belly, and his fingers were flicking gently over the strings, checking the tuning.

Katsuo smiled as the sounds gradually modulated from the atonal testing into soft, sweet melody. Oh, he'd known it.

The boy's eyes drifted shut as his fingers flickered over the strings. Katsuo didn't recognize the tune he was playing; he suspected it existed only inside that shaggy head.

He stood silent and still as the gentle music filled his small shop. The light guitar's tone was sweet and crisp; it suited the boy's music well. The artisan could feel the moisture threatening at the corners of his eyes. This was the reward every guitar maker craved--a natural musician who felt the song the polished wood and strings needed to sing.

As the soft sounds drifted away into silence, the boy's eyelids rose heavily; he sighed with deep satisfaction.

Katsuo smiled into the slightly dazed face, nodding gently. "I am Katsuo," he offered.

He was rewarded with a shy, sweet smile that brightened the dim corners of the room. "Daniel. I'm Daniel."

Katsuo nodded again, smile widening. "You are welcome here, Daniel. Guitars need to be played; they are not meant to hang silent on racks. You come again; you play again."

* * *

Daniel had come again. He spoke very little, but almost every afternoon he slipped through the door, waited to catch Katsuo's eye and receive a nod of approval, then selected a guitar--a different one each day--and lost himself in the joy of communing with the instrument.

After a week, Katsuo had begun to recognize some of the music. He was sure he'd heard some of those tunes played by the harpists at local folk festivals. And there were some strains that sounded suspiciously like Bach, or Clementi--keyboard masterpieces magically speaking from six steel strings.

But still, much of it was unknown to the artisan. The style and mood changed with the guitars Daniel chose. The big dreadnaughts, with their heavier, more commanding voices, produced strong, martial melodies; the smaller guitars caressed the harp tunes and the quick fugues and inventions of Bach. Different tunes for each different guitar. He preferred the six stringed instruments, but flirted with the twelves as well, though it was obvious that they were new to him. He quickly adjusted to the doubled strings and big, echoing sound, and soon there were tunes just for twelve-strings.

Most of the time, he played with his eyes closed. He rarely seemed conscious of the customers who entered the shop, though they noticed him. Most of them stayed, caught in the delicate web he created. He remained largely oblivious. When he did notice that he had an audience, his fair skin flushed red, and he lowered his eyes, and his guitar of the day, until the store emptied. But shy as the young guitarist was, the customers still came back to listen to him. And Katsuo's business was improving steadily.

On the fifteenth day, Katsuo ducked under the counter as Daniel came through the door. As his visitor placed his books on the counter, Katsuo dropped a hand onto his wrist, stilling him.

Blue eyes flew up to meet his own, and he didn't miss the quick look of anguish. Smiling, he shook his head slightly.

"Daniel, I have a proposal."

"Ah... A proposal?"

"Yes. You know that I don't just sell the guitars. I make as well."

The shaggy head bobbed. Daniel's brow was wrinkled in confusion.

"New guitars need to be played. Tested."

"Broken in?"

"Yes. Broken in. And the guitars on the racks need what you do. To be played."

Daniel's head tilted, and he nodded.

"So, Daniel. My proposal." Katsuo tapped the boy on the shoulder. "You play, every day. When there is a new guitar, you... break it in."

The charming smile lit Daniel's face. "Okay."

"And I pay."

Daniel's soft mouth dropped open in astonishment. "Pay?"

"Oh, yes. This is a *business* proposal. I make, you play, I pay."

"Oh, but..."

"I pay. Not very much, you understand. Guitar shops are not wealthy. But I pay."

"I... I..."

Katsuo nodded briskly in satisfaction, then gestured toward the guitars on the wall. "Now, you play. New guitar by Friday, so you have many to play before. Best get busy."

Daniel's mouth snapped shut. For a moment, he stood in dazed confusion. Then he gave his head a quick shake, favored Katsuo with another of his brilliant smiles, and moved to make his choice for the day.

Satisfied, Katsuo ducked back behind his counter. To feed such a soul, his business could afford this small salary.

* * *

"Hey, Katsuo!" The hearty greeting was accompanied by a burst of winter air as the door crashed open and a big, red-bearded man swept in.

"Mac." Katsuo stood and reached across the counter to share a vigorous handshake.

"My new baby ready yet?" The man's bright hazel eyes swept around the little shop, halting in surprise as they registered the wide-eyed youngster frozen in the corner.

"Oh, yes. Daniel has just been testing it." Katsuo gestured toward the boy, who hadn't moved since Eric MacLeod had burst through the shop's door.

The big man's brows rose. "He's playing my new guitar?"

Katsuo tightened his fingers on the man's sleeve, meeting his eyes for a long moment. Then he nodded, winking. "Oh, yes. Testing it."

Mac's brows dropped, then the right one arched high. He shifted his gaze back to Daniel, who was clutching the guitar, shrinking back as if to sink into the wall behind him.

"Daniel, show. This is Mac's new guitar; he wants to hear how it sounds."

When Daniel showed no signs of moving, Mac stepped across the shop and tapped him on the shoulder. "Hey, Kid? You okay?"

Daniel jumped, gaze flying up to Mac's ruddy face. "Uh... Yes... I... I'm sorry, but..."

"Hey, Katsuo says you should show me how it sounds." He grinned down into the white face. "I've been waiting for that guitar! Let's hear it!"

Daniel made a move to hand the instrument to the big man, but Mac gently pushed it back toward him. "C'mon, Kid. Play."

A frightened glance toward the small guitar maker was answered by a smile and an encouraging nod. Daniel took a deep breath, closed his eyes and continued with the delicate, transparent music he'd felt belonged to this guitar.

After a few measures, Mac straightened up and glanced over his shoulder at a smirking Katsuo. His lips silently formed the word, "Wow!"

Katsuo nodded, swept his hand toward the pair in the corner of the shop, then drifted back into his workshop, contentment warming his belly. From the outer room, he heard the music drift to closure, and the warm rumble of Mac's big, gentle voice.

"That was great, Kid. What was that you were playing?"

Daniel's barely audible voice replied, "Carolan."

"Carolan? The harpist? Damn, I never thought of that. Say..." Katsuo heard the big man drop down to sit on the floor. "...Let me show you what I planned to do with that guitar. Then *you* show *me* some of that harp music."

Katsuo's brows rose. Mac had been very explicit with his needs. A smallish body, but built very strong. He listened as the strings on the guitar were slowly retuned, grimacing slightly at the thought of the tension on the poor things.

"See, I figured I needed a bit of a different sound for some stuff. I'm gonna play this little beauty high strung." The tuning sounds crept higher. "Watch yourself, Kid. These things are getting pretty tight."

"Daniel."

"Daniel? Nice to meet you, Daniel." Ping ping. "I'm Mac. Mac MacLeod." More and higher pinging, followed by the slide of fine adjustment. "There we go. Try that tune now."

Sounds of shuffling as the guitar changed hands. Then the beautiful harp tune rang through the shop, high, bright and chiming. Daniel's gasp was audible.

"Oh, God. That's... that's wonderful."

Mac slapped his knee. "Oh, yeah. Daniel, you and I have a bit of horse-trading to do here. You show me some of those harp tunes, and I promise I'll teach you anything you want to learn, and I'll bring this little baby back with me every time I come in. Deal?"

For the first time, Katsuo heard a breath of laughter from his young employee. "Okay. Deal."

Bending over the wood he was gently forming into the back of a classical guitar, he smiled in satisfaction.

* * *

The little shop rang with unaccustomed racket. Four folk musicians and his Daniel were holding an impromptu workshop, delighting Katsuo, as well as any fortunate customers who wandered through the door.

Daniel sat on his stool, in the center of the group of professionals. His eyes were round and happy, his face brilliant with delight. Over the last six months, Mac and his buddies had taken the boy under their wings, and his horizons were broadening by the hour. Katsuo suspected that Daniel's music had always been private, and it had taken a while for the boisterous older men to convince him to relax a bit and try to play with them. Once persuaded, however, he'd committed himself whole-heartedly. And he was very quick. He'd fix his big eyes on Mac's or Pete's hands, imitating the patterns and passages, then fling away his reservations.

Once he'd gotten the feel for ensemble playing, he'd quickly become very adept, and his mimicry graduated rapidly into improvisation. The musicians began to seek him out for the sheer fun of sitting in the little shop, surrounded by dark, age-polished wood walls and dozens of fine guitars, and inventing music on the fly.

The shy, nearly soundless boy was gradually fading away. Surrounded by the rotating assortment of friendly musicians who flitted in and out of the shop, he'd opened up, showing an eager, talkative alter ego. He'd soaked up every tidbit of musical lore and canny experience the various men and women offered, and tendered his own hesitant discoveries in exchange.

Katsuo had basked in the pleasure of being surrounded by the voices of his instruments. His face seemed perpetually creased in a smile of satisfaction as he stroked, glazed and carved the beautiful shapes of his craft. Somewhere in the back of his mind lurked the fuzzy notion that the bodies and necks were better for the atmosphere of their creation--that somehow they soaked up the joyous sounds of the music that rang from the outer room, and those lovely reverberations would emerge from the finished instruments in the form of richer and clearer tones.

The artisan lifted his head, smiling at the sound of Daniel's choice of guitar for the day setting a lively melody for the other musicians to pick up and play with. A bit of Vivaldi, if Katsuo wasn't mistaken. One by one, the other instruments joined. Soon the sweet Baroque melody had been altered beyond recognition. Daniel's soft laughter was just loud enough to be heard over the enthusiastic mutation. Katsuo shook his head, grinning happily. Ah, well. He doubted Vivaldi wanted it any more.

* * *

Two years. It had been two joyous years since that day he'd noticed a quiet, shy boy gazing wistfully through his shop window. Katsuo had always loved his art--loved the wood and the varnish and the strings. And the music that his beloved instruments could produce. And never had he been as vitally aware of what exquisite delight that music could be.

He ran his hands gently along the glossy guitar neck, smiling at the thought of how special this guitar was.

He lifted his head in expectation at the sound of the latch, nodding as Daniel slid his gangly body through the door. At fifteen, he'd begun to fulfill the promise of those big, graceful hands. He'd shot up several inches in recent months, and was still learning how to manage his elbows and knees. He'd never had any problem with his fingers.

Katsuo straightened as, instead of heading toward the guitars, Daniel stood on the customer side of the counter, head down, hands spread on top of today's stack of books.

"Daniel?"

"Uh... I..." The youngster drew a deep breath, then lifted sad blue eyes to meet Katsuo's gaze. "I'm leaving."

Katsuo fought to keep the dismay from showing on his face. "Leaving?"

"Yes. Th... they're transferring me to a new place."

"A new place."

"A new f...foster home." The shaggy head dipped again. "It... it's good, really. Where I'm going, I can... I can start university classes. They won't let me here. I've taken all I can from the community college."

Katsuo tilted his head. "So... when?"

"Two weeks." The sorrow echoed in the words.

"It's a good thing, then?"

Daniel's shoulders hunched. "Yeah," he whispered. "I guess."

"Two weeks. You can play much in two weeks. Best get busy."

Those blue eyes lifted again. "I... I hate to leave, Katsuo. For the first time in a long time, there's something I really, really hate to leave."

Katsuo met the sorrowful eyes, then nodded his understanding.

Looking away again, Daniel gently pushed his books into the back corner of the counter, then moved to survey the racked guitars.

As the youngster settled himself and his choice onto the stool, Katsuo returned to his workbench. There would be some late nights in the next two weeks of his life. This was a special guitar; it must be perfect, and it must be ready when it was needed.

As he worked, gentle, soft strains drifted through the dusty air, their mood mournful and sorrowing.

* * *

Katsuo was standing in front of the counter, hand resting on a guitar case, when Daniel entered for his last day in the shop. The blue eyes were suspiciously red-rimmed, but no tears were in evidence.

They stood facing each other for a long moment, then Daniel gently wrapped his arms around the older man, stooping slightly to match their heights. Katsuo slid his own arms around the boy's thin middle, squeezing hard.

For a first and last hug, it was most satisfactory. Neither of them was precisely dry-eyed when they emerged, gazes sliding to the side in mild embarrassment.

Katsuo gripped Daniel's arm firmly, giving it a small shake. "Come, Daniel. You have one more day. You can play much in one day."

Daniel favored him with a slightly moist smile, and nodded.

"Here..." He gently lifted the guitar from its case on the counter. "I have just finished this guitar. Today, you test it."

Daniel's eyes widened as he accepted the instrument. Eyes fixed on the lovely thing, he drifted blindly toward his stool.

"This is really beautiful, Katsuo. It's a custom, right?"

"Oh, yes. Very, very special, private order. Play."

Expression lightening, Daniel tucked the guitar against his body and stroked lightly over the strings.

"It's high strung!"

"It is. For special music."

Lips curving into a smile that at last lightened his eyes, Daniel played. Katsuo smiled in satisfaction. As he had planned, the instrument had an exceptionally clear, ringing tone, perfect for Daniel's favorite style.

For an hour, and then another, the boy teased his beautiful, eldritch music from the exquisite guitar. By the time he had to stop, he had tears of an entirely different sort in his eyes.

"My God, Katsuo. I've never played anything so wonderful before. It's..." He shook his head helplessly. "It's amazing."

Katsuo smiled. "It is. Come, put it back in the case, now."

Daniel's head came up, and the happiness drained from his expression. Time to go.

Slowly, he stood and walked over to the counter, toward the custom-made case. As he reached to set the guitar into its molded bed, Katsuo again grasped his forearm.

"Wait. First you read." He gestured toward the inside of the cover of the case.

Daniel leaned over and squinted through his glasses, fighting the reflection of the shop's lights on the brass plate riveted against the padded surface.

His mouth dropped open, and every scrap of color drained from his cheeks. He jerked back, flicked a glance at Katsuo's face, then slowly lifted the guitar, staring at the inlay on the head.

Katsuo smiled in triumph as the fingers of Daniel's free hand slowly traced the letters, "D. J." Then he scooted quickly to fetch the stool as Daniel's knees buckled.

Gently, he lifted the guitar from trembling hands, setting it tenderly into its custom-formed padding.

"I... I... How..." Daniel's voice was strangled, shaking. "You can't..."

"I can. I have." Katsuo gently cupped an ashen cheek. "You don't understand, do you? What you've given me? My heart breaks that you must leave, but for two years you have given me such joy. How could I not, Daniel?"

Daniel's head was shaking, tears running down his cheeks. "What... Oh, God. How can I..."

"You can, Daniel. You must, or you will greatly offend me."

Drowned eyes snapped to meet his. "I'd... offend you?"

"Oh, yes. This is a gift of the heart, my good friend. You must accept gracefully, or I'm afraid I will have to send my large and formidable relatives to punish you."

He winked, then joined in Daniel's laughter.

Daniel heaved a big sigh, then wobbled back to his feet, stepping to the counter to devour the instrument with awe-struck eyes.

Katsuo slid a thick manila envelope into Daniel's stack of books. Then he gently rubbed the boy's back and lowered the lid over the guitar, engaging the lock and randomizing the combination.

"Come, my friend. You must go. Here..." He indicated the envelope. "Here is information and documentation, including the combination."

Daniel looked from the stacked books to the guitar case, then turned and held out his hand. "There are no words, Katsuo. Nothing I could say would be adequate. Thank you."

Katsuo smiled and lifted his chin. "Those words cannot be improved upon, my dear friend. Use her with joy, and remember me."

* * *

The old man slid his fingers carefully along the edge of the thin strip of abalone, then gently began to tease it into the prepared groove around the edge of the front of the guitar's body. It was an exceptionally nice bit of abalone--bright with fire.

He smiled at the sounds of guitars, singing and laughter ringing from the front of the shop. For twenty years, now, they'd jammed in his store several times each week. For twenty years.

The rattle and metallic click of the door told him that he had potentially paying customers, so he set the half-built guitar gently on the work table and stepped to the counter. A young man had entered, and was gazing around the shop. He was tall, handsome, well built. His light brown hair was long in back, but neatly cut into a fringe across his forehead, just above the expensive metal rims of his glasses. His right hand gripped the handle of an expensive guitar case.

Brow furrowing, Katsuo stared at the young man. He barely registered the second man who had entered the shop behind him.

Slowly, the young man's gaze swept along the racks of polished guitars, then to Katsuo's face. The artisan found himself staring into round, brilliantly blue eyes, and abruptly the breath caught in his throat.

Then soft lips curved into a shy, sweet smile that brightened the dim corners of the shop. And the old guitar maker felt his heart leap with joy.

The heads of the musicians crammed into the back corner, clustered around the stool that none of them seemed to want to use, jerked upward at the delighted cry.

"Daniel!"

* * *

Katsuo's Gift to Daniel:

'For Daniel'  
'Even A Private Artist Deserves the Finest of Brushes.'  
'Katsuo'


End file.
